


forgive me for my sins, i have just begun

by lavendersnow



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Government Conspiracy, M/M, Not Between Minsung, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spies & Secret Agents, United States
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27344035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendersnow/pseuds/lavendersnow
Summary: Minho is on the run for a murder he didn't commit. Jisung is on his heels for answers Minho doesn't have. The clock is ticking, and if they can't find who really assassinated the President of the United States, they'll both be dead men walking. But at least they can trust each other... right?"You love me enough to hear me out, don't you?"Jisung swallows audibly, but his grip doesn't loosen. "Don't make me pull the trigger, Agent Lee."
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

A nervous journalist stands outside the White House, microphone in one hand, printed report in the other. Despite the breeziness of the afternoon, there is no reason for her hands to be trembling as much as they are. This, more than anything else, draws attention from television viewers all across the country.

“We have just received breaking news,” she begins shakily, voice carried on the wind, “that President Christopher Bang has been assassinated during his speech on bureaucratic transparency at the annual World Summit.” There are tears in her eyes as she reads out the next segment of the script.

“Beloved by all, President Chan, as he preferred to be known, succumbed to his fatal wound at 6:40 AM this morning, Monday the 17th, in Geneva, Switzerland. The entire nation will mourn his passing in the face of this terrible tragedy. His remains will be transported back to the United States approximately…”

* * *

Jisung’s nails have long since been bitten down to the curves of his fingers and then some, and yet there is nothing he wants to do right now then tear at them more.

“Now is not the time, Seo,” he mutters quietly, trying to keep his expression neutral as he hurries down the austere hallway. Sometimes, he hated just how _clean_ Langley was, especially when he knew how much blood had been spilled in its name, his own included.

“Now is _exactly_ the time, Han,” Changbin retorts, his permanent scowl furrowed even more deeply than usual.

At those words, Jisung stops and whirls around to face the older man. He can tell Changbin is about to start up again, but his nerves are already as frayed as they can be, and his patience wears thin.

“Now is exactly _not_ the time,” Jisung hisses, so fiercely his leg twinges in half-forgotten pain, but he pays it no attention. “It’s a zoo out there right now. The press is two seconds from falling into a panicked frenzy and everyone is at the end of their rope, _me included_. Now you _will_ let me set my department straight so they’re prepared to take up the job that _your_ department bungled so thoroughly or _there will be hell to pay_.”

“You don’t need to tell _me_ about the state of the nation, Han,” Changbin replies sourly. “I’m directly in the line of fire.”

Jisung lets the last of his self-control prevent him from fully baring his teeth at the Chief of Staff. “Then do your job, Seo, and let me do mine. Everyone’s a little trigger happy right now, especially a fully-trained black ops team.”

Changbin blinks slowly, unfazed by the threat. “You sure that’s the kind of wording you want to use right now? They _are_ still looking for a suspect, you know.”

Jisung shrugs, long past caring. “We both know what you already think.” He doesn’t wait around for a reply, stalking down the hall and leaving a nonplussed Chief of Staff in his wake.

* * *

**The New York Times** @nytimes • 9h

The White House has issued a call for Agent Lee Minho to turn himself in for questioning on President Chan's assassination.

The White House has not released another statement since the tragic event itself, and there is no publicly available information on Agent Lee's involvement.

10:03 PM - 18 Mar 2020

* * *

This time, it’s Jisung out on the hunt for Changbin. Luckily, the other man hasn’t flown back to Washington yet, leaving the perfect opening for Jisung to stalk up to the Chief of Staff and shove a tablet into his chest. “What the _fuck_ is this?”

Changbin gives a look to the woman he was talking to, and she nods hurriedly before disengaging. Changbin ushers an irate Jisung into the nearest conference room, glancing down at the tablet. Before he can even reply, Jisung presses on. “You didn’t have clearance in this division. You’re not even authorized to _access_ this information, let alone release _my_ agents’ names to the press!” Jisung hates how his voice shakes whenever he’s frustrated, hands clenched in tight fists at his side, but he’s too furious to regulate his voice right now.

It’s not just the anger, but the _fear_ , a helpful voice suggests in his mind. Fear of everything that this oblivious bastard in front of him had set in motion without even realizing the danger he had just put their operatives in.

“You told me to go do my job,” Changbin replies steadily. “And that job is to give the American people the answers they demand, even though _you’ve_ given me even less information than what the public already has.” He continues to scroll through the tablet even though he already knows what the news headlines say. After all, he had been the one to feed those words to the media.

“They’re going to think that Minho’s responsible for assassinating the President when he _isn’t_ —”

“Then where’s my list of suspects, Han?” Changbin interrupts, setting the tablet down on the table with a sharp clack. “If you had just given me all the data upfront like I had _asked_ , I wouldn’t have had to go all the way to the Director of the CIA for names, who, by the way, was a lot more forthcoming than you have been this entire time.”

A pause. Jisung bites back the fury and inhales deeply, trying to maintain some semblance of calm. “You have no idea what danger you have just—”

“SKZ-9, was it?” Changbin cuts Jisung off again, staring intently at his expression. Jisung struggles to not let anything show on his face, but something must still make it through his mask. Changbin nods sharply. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You already knew?”

Changbin shrugs, sliding the tablet back over to Jisung. “I suspected. The Director gave me the last few hints I needed to figure it out. I always wondered why you weren’t in the conventional chain of command. Now I know.”

Jisung’s leg aches fiercely. “No, you don’t.” At Changbin’s raised eyebrow, the words come spewing out. “You might know of our existence now, but you have _no_ idea what you’ve done, how much you’ve put at risk.” He stands up fluidly, gritting his teeth against the throb he’s long since learned to ignore.

“One name, that’s all I need. You _know_ where it’s going to go from here. One agent, Jisung, or all of them.”

* * *

**The Huffington Post** shared a link.

8 hours ago •

An arrest warrant has been issued for CIA Agent Lee Minho regarding the assassination of President Christopher Bang. Insider sources at the Pentagon claim that Agent Lee was part of a secretive Black Ops division operating overseas at the behest of an unknown department in the CIA.

**Warrant for CIA Agent Suspected of Assassinating U.S. President**

www.huffingtonpost.org

* * *

Jisung stares blankly at his computer screen, but the words blur out across the screen as he lets the tears fall.

He’s never wanted this job, always struggling to coordinate movements from HQ when he knows in his heart he should be right there out in the field with his fellow agents, bum leg be damned. But despite his doubts, he likes to think he’s done as good a job as any administrator could have in his position.

And now? Now he can’t even protect his operatives, since Minho’s name is in the open and their entire unit is one wispy rumor away from facing the scrutiny of the entire globe. All their covert operations, all the intelligence gathered in the name of this greedy country, and Jisung can only wonder if Changbin had found out the true purpose of Unit SKZ-9, the black ops of the black ops.

Sure, Jisung had his own reservations about their missions sometimes: the people they’ve murdered, the foreign lives they’ve ruined in favor of protecting their own. But it’s not his place to look at the larger picture, and sometimes it’s easier just to not think. But he’s one of _them_ now, the thinkers, the people who puppeteer other people. Jisung can no longer pretend not to acknowledge what Changbin has been implying all along.

It would make sense, wouldn’t it? For a professional assassin to have murdered the President himself?

The tears dry as Jisung smiles bitterly, no one around to see the surprisingly crooked expression on his face. The worst part is, as bad a liar as Jisung can be, he’s learned to utilize that weakness. It was one of the first lessons he had beaten into him during training: if you can’t hide a weakness, at least make sure no one else can take advantage of it either.

So the crux of the matter was this: Jisung had no idea if Minho was guilty either. And when a mess this large needed a cleanup to match, there was only one team called in to do the job.

Jisung grits his teeth as he jerks the mouse and wakes his monitor back up. He has field agents to assemble for the most difficult task of his career: hunting down his fiance.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been a long time since they’ve all been gathered in one location, this twisted family of theirs. Hyunjin leans back even further in his seat, long legs propped up on the edge of the table as he observes the coworkers he hasn’t seen face to face like this in _years_. It’s a huge risk to have the entirety of SKZ-9 in one location, agents whose objectives don’t even exist on paper, especially in these dangerous times. Hyunjin is more than a little pissed off his undercover profile has been blown just for petty squabbling, dead President or not.

He’s not the only one on edge today, though.

Across the table, Jisung is pale and withdrawn, a sickly pallor to his usually golden skin, and his mouth is chapped and rough from long hours spent gnawing at his own lips. Despite his drained appearance, his eyes are trained tensely on Jeongin, although Hyunjin wonders whether he truly sees the youngest, or if he’s thinking of someone taller, older, icier than their ambitious coworker.

After all, Jeongin was only their _acting_ operations director.

Before the bastard had gone missing, Agents Lee and Han had been everything Hyunjin wanted to be, despite coming from the same training cohort as them and technically being their equal. They’d been the most successful duo the CIA had ever employed, and half of SKZ-9’s modus operandi had been developed from the ground up by the two. Hyunjin had escaped some perilous situations by the skin of his teeth with their guidance, and he owes much of his well-being to Minho especially, who had spent long hours staying back for extra training with Hyunjin. Even if he had later realized it was just because Minho liked beating him up without consequences.

Despite the friendly rapport they eventually established, Hyunjin can’t say he’s particularly surprised that it was the notorious Lee Know who had supposedly gone rogue. Jisung might be as personable as a cold-blooded (but government-sanctioned) killer could be, but Lee had never once softened around anyone besides his assigned partner. Decisive and imposing, the older had the highest body count of any unit in the agency. Hyunjin shuddered. He much preferred his usual honey trapping, thank you very much. They might have the same federal leash wrapped around all their throats, but Hyunjin trusted the rest of his coworkers about as far as they could throw him.

Someone tugs his ankles off the table, and Hyunjin tilts his head forward to look at him, lips habitually gentling from his signature smirk to a more genuine smile. Now _this_ one he wouldn’t mind getting punted by. Before he can continue to tease Seungmin, Jeongin clears his throat from the head of the table, drawing all eyes back to him as he slams the files they’ve all provided down on the table.

“Really?” Jeongin demands, soft voice unusually pronounced in the silent conference room. “This is it?”

Jisung may have been their logistics officer, a seamless transition after such a long stint as their tactical leader, but it had always been Minho who had called the shots in the field on the rare occasion the entire team was needed for one mission. In the same way that Felix was Minho’s operational protege, Jeongin had stepped up to handle the authoritative position with remarkable ease. He may have been the youngest of those present, but Jeongin was by far the most adept at smoothing all the ruffled political feathers a no-holds-barred hit squad tended to provoke, especially one with such an unclear chain of command that ran directly to the White House. A branch that was now defunct of a leader, Hyunjin mentally adds. Even _he_ didn’t think Minho was capable of biting the hand that fed them.

Which only begged the question: what was _really_ going on?

“This was everything we could compile.” It’s Seungmin who finally answers Jeongin’s question, as unflappable as always.

But Jeongin has never been one to back down either, especially not when it’s his ass on the line as acting director. “You’re telling me,” he begins venomously, “that in all the dozens of missions we’ve had together, you’ve only amassed 8 safe houses?”

Instead of answering immediately, Seungmin slowly removes his glasses. Polishes them. Puts them back on. Hyunjin leans forward in anticipation.

“Considering that you told us to disregard all _official_ safe houses, Agent Yang,” Seungmin snaps, “then yes, these are the only locations remaining after having me sift through 95% of our allocated resources. If you assume that Agent Lee has gone dark, knowing full well exactly how _we_ will be searching for him, since he quite literally _wrote the manual_ for situations like these, then yes. Eight locations. Take it or leave it.”

Seungmin’s chest is heaving by the end of his spiel and Hyunjin can’t help the way his grin widens. “Besides,” the blond pipes up, eager to back up his man, “we all know Minho chose to complete most assignments alone after, well…” Hyunjin trails off. Some things don’t need to be said. Jisung stiffens as all eyes turn to him.

Jeongin sighs impatiently. “Anything to add, then? Jisung?”

Jisung shakes his head. “No,” he replies calmly, in stark contrast to his lackluster appearance.

Jeongin arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that, Agent Han?” The formal address causes Jisung’s back to stiffen, and the tension in the room heightens.

“What are you implying, Jeongin?”

“Well, you _were_ his partner even before this team was created, weren’t you?” Jeongin presses on, and Hyunjin winces on the inside at his use of the past tense. That’s _got_ to sting. “Are you holding back?”

Jisung narrows his eyes. “We might have _been_ partners for a long time, you’re right,” he snaps through gritted teeth, “but it’s not like Minho told me _everything_ , or else we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I gave you the two safe houses I know about, both from well-documented missions that were recorded in our covert database.”

Jeongin doesn’t reply, but his gaze remains skeptical.

Not patient enough to sit through yet another standoff, Hyunjin sighs loudly. “We don’t even know if Minho is at one of the locations we have on record. Maybe he kept a place to himself. Maybe he’s already in a different country.”

Jeongin scoffs. “Not possible. When the arrest warrant was publicized, we sent out a request for a red notice from Interpol. He could be in Maryland or Madrid but given enough time, we _will_ find him.”

“Then why don’t we work on that?” A low voice interjects smoothly, Felix having spoken for the first time since they walked in. “Find Minho, arrest him, and bring him back.” He smiles sweetly at the refocused attention, but his fingers are twitching impatiently, too. As friendly as the Australian came off, he was the one Hyunjin was truly the most wary of. Trained late in the formation of their unit by Minho himself, Felix lived only for the hunt, and in their line of work, that meant killing.

Oh, there was satisfaction in a job done well, Hyunjin would never deny that, but Felix was a loose cannon in the hands of some very inexperienced handlers, no matter how inviting his outward actions were. Hyunjin was there for the Riyadh assignment. It still gives him nightmares sometimes.

Even Jeongin falters when Felix speaks up, and he reluctantly draws their debriefing to a close. “Y-yes, well. For this search, everyone will be splitting up again. Since these are all safe houses that you’re already familiar with, I expect you all back here within the week. Jisung has more details for those of you who need transportation, but this meeting is over.”

Hyunjin glances back one last time at their liaison, noting the furrow of Jisung’s brow, but he suspects that maybe Jisung won’t be the first to find Minho. Now what that means for their rogue agent, only time would tell.

Hyunjin slings an arm over Seungmin’s shoulders, the younger allowing the skinship for once with a pink blush on his cheeks. The assassin grins. Things may be grim, but they were certainly looking up.

* * *

Minho is flat against the ground, the coarse grass scratching roughly at his arms as he continues inching around the perimeter of the barn. Rural Virginia might have been a bit of a risk, so close to the American seat of power, but hell, _anywhere_ was a bit of a risk right now for him, and he’s banking on the fact that Jeongin would have assumed that he ran as far as he could already.

If the entire team was sent out already, as he knows they will have been, then his chances of survival depend solely on which of his former teammates he meets first.

Minho tenses as he observes his surroundings again, but nothing’s moving beyond the odd cow a few miles out, and there’s no evidence of any vehicles in the area. If someone was staking out the barn to trap him, they would’ve had to approach on foot, in which case Minho might actually have a chance.

With barely a rustle to be heard, Minho slips through the barn door and bolts it shut behind him. Inside, the facility is clearly abandoned and has been for years now, if the missing shutters were any sign. All things considered, it was still in relatively good shape. The wooden beams propping up that high vaulted ceiling showed no signs of rot, and the half-hearted piles of hay still smelled mildly sweet. Taking careful steps down the main walkway, Minho begins counting stalls.

5, 6, 7… There. Minho presses his thumb into a small indentation on the underside of a stall window, and a clean hiss echoes through the barn as hidden pneumatics disengage and the stall door smoothly opens. Minho sighs in relief, quickly dropping to his knees and brushing away the hay strewn across the far corner. He finds a hidden latch and tugs hard, an entire arsenal smoothly rising from the ground. Minho tugs at the first layer to release two more, immediately pulling out the duffle bag and stockpiling it with weapons and rations.

To be honest, this was as far as his half-baked plans went. From here on out, he had no idea what to do. For the first time in his career, he was truly alone, with absolutely no one to turn to. Someone had framed him for the President’s death, and until he could find the traitor, not a single member of SKZ-9 was to be trusted.

Not even Jisung.

Minho allows himself a rare moment of weakness as he stays in a crouch, eyes tightly squeezing shut for a moment. He was never one to be religious, but _please_ , God, let his own fiance be the one who had sold him out. Minho can’t think of a possible motive for anyone on his team but especially not Jisung. But they were coming for him, and when they found him, he was dead.

The longer he stayed in one place, the more likely it was for him to be found, especially this close to headquarters. So with one last inhale, Minho stands up… and immediately feels the press of cold steel against the back of his neck.

Minho exhales slowly. The gun cocks, loud click resonating through the abandoned barn. “Hello, darling.”

Minho’s next breath times perfectly with the shaky inhale from behind him. “How did you know it was me?” Despite the quaver in his voice, Jisung’s hand doesn’t shake at all, and Minho supposes he shouldn’t find the kiss of icy metal against his nape quite this comforting. But out of everyone who could have found him first, Minho is still glad it was Jisung.

Minho can’t help the slight smile that jumps to his lips every time he thinks of his beloved. But well, business before pleasure, and all that. His life is on the line, after all, even if he’d rather die than find out Jisung had betrayed him. “Because no one else,” Minho purrs, “would have waited to pull the trigger.”

Minho leans backwards, putting just enough sudden weight on Jisung’s arm that the younger man stumbles backwards in surprise, which was more than enough time for Minho to continue falling with the momentum into a two-handed backflip, legs swinging up to wrap around Jisung’s neck and bring him crashing to the ground with a pained yelp.

Despite himself, Minho smiles as he continues to pin Jisung’s head between his knees, the position far too reminiscent of training sessions in their younger days when he and Jisung would tussle for hours on end before passing out next to each other in exhaustion. No time to continue musing on the past, though. Jisung has always had more upper body strength than Minho, and he makes good use of it, throwing Minho off him and into the side of the stall.

Minho winces as the old wood gives out behind his back, jumping to his feet and bolting out the next stall door towards the back of the barn. Here, there are no more stalls, just a massive open space covered in hay, with nowhere to hide. Shit.

Minho does his best to press himself against the wall closest to the entrance, counting down the slow footsteps that make their way towards him, trying to quiet his heavy breathing down.

Unfortunately, even with Jisung’s injury, the two of them are more evenly matched than Minho would like in this situation. It was part of the reason why they were so suitable as a team, neither slowing the other down. As enemies, though, this was a constantly shifting battlefield of thinking and overthinking. Would Jisung predict his next move or would Minho act in the exact opposite manner? Who was truly a step ahead of the other?

As soon as Jisung steps into the open area, Minho is dashing towards him to knock him off balance, but this time, Jisung was prepared, feinting to the side and whirling under Minho’s outstretched arm to grab it and pin it to his back, a knife against Minho’s neck in Jisung’s other hand. But Minho’s arm is free too, and he reaches backwards, scrabbling for the gun in Jisung’s holster.

It’s an uncomfortable position for both of them, a knife against Minho’s chin and a gun in Jisung’s ribs, and yet they are so close, Jisung’s breath hot and heavy against Minho’s ear.

Almost against his will, Minho lets his eyes close in their life-threatening stalemate and just imagine that he could be together with Jisung, in just as tight an embrace, with none of the danger. Just him, and Jisung, no space between them, only comfort.

But when he no longer feels the point of a blade scraping against his neck, Minho frowns, opening his eyes again. His arm is no longer being torn out of its socket either, and he slowly turns around to face Jisung, gun still trained on the other’s chest.

Jisung raises both hands up, palms open, knife glowing silver in the scant sunlight as he tosses it away into the hay.

Minho frowns. Jisung’s face is shadowed, and he can’t make out his expression. “Aren’t you here to kill me?”

Jisung shakes his head, slowly stepping forward, hands falling back down to his sides. This close, his eyes are even wider than Minho remembers, as guileless as can be. He’s always wondered how Jisung’s kept that innocence in their line of work. It had been one of many things that first attracted him to the younger. “Aren’t _you_ going to kill _me_?”

Minho swallows roughly, but he keeps the gun aimed at Jisung. “Don’t come any closer.” If there was anyone to lull him into a false sense of security, it would be Jisung. He was the perfect bait, and Minho’s not sure if Jisung would even know if someone was pulling his strings.

“Minho, why did you kill the President?” Jisung pleads, although he’s stopped trying to move towards Minho.

Minho laughs bitterly. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?”

But to his surprise, Jisung nods quickly.

“You’re lying.” Minho stares at him in disbelief.

Jisung scowls. “You’ve never lied to me before, and I don’t think you’d start now.”

“Then why did you release my name to the public?”

“Changbin went over my head to the _Director_ , I had no say in it.”

Minho shifts his stance. “Why else would you be here?”

“Because damn it, Minho, I wanted _answers_.”

Minho scoffs. “Well now you have them. I _didn’t_ kill him.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Minho considers where to go from here. He doesn’t want to kill Jisung. Honestly, if Jisung was the traitor he was looking for, Minho would rather put a bullet in his own head right now _for_ Jisung than have to live with that betrayal, but if there was even a slight chance that the true assassin was going to put them both at risk… “I still believe you, you know,” Jisung mutters quietly, and Minho lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

But Minho still has to check: “How can you be so sure?”

Jisung smiles wryly. “Because you could have gone for my leg all this time, and you didn’t.”

Minho winces, remembering the exact circumstances of the injury that had almost crippled Jisung for good. “I would _never_ ,” he replies aghast, and Jisung’s smile widens.

“Just like how you would never assassinate the President, huh?” Minho grimaces. They both know what’s coming next. “Minho…” Jisung begins softly, walking forward as Minho finally lowers Jisung’s gun. “I’ll see you again after this, right?”

Minho stares at him for a long while, eyes roving greedily over Jisung’s face, committing every inch to his memory. “I swear it.”

Jisung nods firmly, scrunching his eyes closed and bracing himself. “Then do it.”

In one smooth motion, Minho whips the gun around to smash into the side of Jisung’s head, and his fiance crumples to the ground unconscious.

In another moment, Minho was gone like he’d never been there, the ghost of a kiss pressed to Jisung’s forehead.

He’ll be back. He’s promised.


	3. Chapter 3

If this were any other moment, Jisung would have already made a teasing comment about how adorable Jeongin looks glaring like that, but well, the target of their acting director’s glare right now is Jisung himself, so.

“You had him,” Jeongin spits out, leaning forward with both palms flat against the table.

Jisung dips his head briefly, the motion allowing the massive bruise along one cheek to catch the light. His continued silence only seems to spark Jeongin’s anger higher.

“And you just let him _go_ like that? Whose side are you on?” Jeongin snaps. The director must be on his ass to find Minho’s whereabouts now, too, and Jisung can’t help the dark sense of satisfaction that it’s not him in the line of fire for once. Good.

“The side of the truth,” Jisung retorts, finally fed up with this one-sided barrage. If Jeongin didn’t have anything productive to say, Jisung had no qualms about walking out right now. “And it’s not like I didn’t try to bring him in. Did you miss the part where he knocked me out?”

Jeongin sighs impatiently, looking distinctly more ruffled than usual. Luckily, the only other person in the room besides Jisung was Felix, whose safehouse assignments had been international. Now that it was confirmed that Minho was still in the country, Hyunjin and Seungmin would continue to stake their locations out until Minho’s tracks were picked up again.

“So you’re saying that your former partner, who you trained with for more than a decade, whose fighting style you were _intimately familiar with_ , got the best of you,” Jeongin snaps through gritted teeth.

Jisung keeps the bland smile on his face. “You think I got demoted to desk duty for no reason?”

Felix hums noncommittally from the corner of the room, and they both turn towards him. The operative had been so quiet while Jeongin and Jisung were arguing that both of them had forgotten he was still there. “Isn’t it obvious?” Felix purrs, deep voice cutting through their tension. In the past, Jisung had found his scratchy timbre soothing, but now his shoulders only hunched in further. “You still love him even though he doesn’t feel the same.” There’s a hint of apology in his voice, and genuine or otherwise, it still causes Jisung to wince despite himself.

Felix wasn’t wrong that Minho was disproportionately cold in comparison to Jisung’s warm nature, and no one on their team actually knew that they had long since resolved things (even if Hyunjin probably suspected, that sly asshole), but it still hurt to hear things that his past self had internalized for so long.

Jeongin’s expression softens slightly though, misinterpreting Jisung’s flinch as acknowledgment that Felix’s words had hit home. “Jisung, you’ve been in the game long enough to know that you can’t let your feelings interfere with our missions.”

Jisung scoffs bitterly. “Brat, I didn’t spend years being your superior just to get lectured by you now. I _know_.”

Felix leans forward to smile sweetly up at Jisung. Felix has always been closer to Minho, the right hand man who replaced Jisung after his injury, and while Minho seemed to trust his protege to watch his back, Jisung certainly didn’t. “Jeongin is just worried about you,” Felix interjects gently. “We all are.”

Sweet as honey he may be, but Jisung had seen Felix snap a man’s neck with one kick to the throat before. The Australian was a thin layer of plush velvet over a titanium core, and Jisung had seen enough bloodshed to know the amount of strength it took to maintain a veneer of kindness in this career.

Jeongin shoots Felix a grateful look. “Minho is under suspicion of assassinating the _President_ , Jisung. We want answers as badly as you do.”

Jisung nods jerkily. “If we cross paths again, things will be different.”

Jeongin exhales slowly, crossing the room to clasp Jisung firmly on the shoulder. “That’s all I can ask of you.” Jisung doesn’t respond, and his silence lingers in the air long after he’s left the room.

“You bugged him, didn’t you.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it rankles Jeongin to respond to something so authoritative, but Felix has more than proven himself, so the younger dips his head briefly, confirming.

Felix hums thoughtfully, unfolding himself from his seat with feline grace. “I’ll trail him too, just in case. We don’t need multiple compromised agents on the loose, after all.”

* * *

Minho gives a two-fingered salute as the dusty sedan backs up into the street, driving away until the street’s completely silent again. Lucky for him, some of his contacts _did_ actually live under a rock and still hadn’t heard that he was internationally wanted, so he was able to cop a ride upstate from one of the kid hackers he kept on retainer. Really, maybe if Jeno stepped away from his screens every once in a while, he wouldn’t need thicker glasses every time Minho sees him.

Judging from his encounter with Jisung, SKZ-9 had been assigned to stake out his old foxholes. Minho was highly aware of the knife edge he was balancing on, but now that he could recover some supplies, he felt secure enough to start tackling his next objective: finding out exactly whose conspiracy he had walked into. Due to their existence as a covert unit, only another member of the team would have known his exact whereabouts at the time of the president’s assassination and would have had access to a gun with his prints on it.

Minho grimaces as he mentally runs through their roster again, trying to figure out who would have set him up like this and _why_. Maybe it had nothing to do with him personally, considering their existence as invisible operatives made them easy scapegoats, and the victim was the President. But to somehow persuade one of their team into becoming a turncoat, to convince one of his hand-picked agents into betraying everything they stood for… Thank _god_ he could confirm that it wasn’t Jisung.

This would be the last risk Minho could take. He had had a part in training most of his teammates, and so he knew better than anyone what measures they would take to complete the mission they were given. But he couldn’t just rely on Jisung, not now that his fiance had returned to headquarters, every move he made under scrutiny. Their romantic relationship might have been kept under wraps, as much as they were capable, but it was common knowledge that they had a bond, as “frayed” as it might have become after Jisung’s injury.

No, there was only one other person Minho could even try to approach, someone who had always pushed the limits of what was allowed and would hopefully apply that same mentality to his current situation. Despite himself, Minho can’t resist the feral bite to the grin making its way up his face. He’s been itching for a rematch.

With Jisung, sparring always had an undercurrent of care and soft (sexual) tension and there were some moves Minho couldn’t quite bring himself to use against his lover in practice. With Hyunjin, though, he had no such mental block. Luckily for the younger, he had probably learned to fight faster than anyone else in their unit besides Felix, and also didn’t particularly _need_ too much combat experience in his line of work. It was probably the only reason Hyunjin still had all his teeth.

This particular safehouse is one that only Hyunjin and perhaps Seungmin knew of, and Minho prays that he only meets one of them in the house. He might be the best the fed’s got, but even he has limits, and Seungmin might claim to detest physical fights, but he has a mean right hook. It’s in a particularly wealthy neighborhood, although its location near the coast meant that most of the houses on the street were empty vacation homes for the elite in New York. This particular home was an unassuming white brick, two cookie-cutter stories and inconspicuous from its neighbors. Not even the trees rustled as Minho inhaled deeply, sensing eyes on him already.

The first floor of the house is empty, well-oiled window hinges opening smoothly as Minho works one open and swings his legs through. He drops into a crouch, senses tingling. As silent as the safehouse is, he is most assuredly not alone.

Minho cautiously makes his way up the stairs, making sure to step on the edges of the floorboards, fingers twitching restlessly. He won't be able to fire a gun in this neighborhood without setting off multiple alarms, nor does he have enough blades on him. Not enough to face the master at his own craft, at least.

Despite the rising tension, Minho snorts. Hyunjin was _still_ holding a grudge over Shinjuku?

The first door off the landing was conspicuously ajar, and Minho sighs loudly this time, knowing Hyunjin can hear him. It was an obvious trap, one he couldn't avoid. But he'd do his damn best to make sure Hyunjin wouldn't have a good time using Minho’s own tricks against him.

Taking a running start, Minho dives through the doorway and somersaults forward, landing on the bed and rolling off to crouch on its far side. Behind him, he can hear the _thunk-thunk-thunk_ of several throwing knives embedding themselves in the nice wood flooring, where he would have been standing if he had entered the bedroom cautiously.

Minho stands up casually, making a show of meticulously brushing off his slacks before facing his former teammate, dodging another errant blade.

“Hey there, Lee Know- _hyung_ ,” Hyunjin singsongs from his perch above the doorway.

“Hyunjinnie-brat,” Minho replies pleasantly.

They both hate nicknames.

The blond is wedged in the entryway of the room, still toying with a brace of knives on one thigh, and despite how supremely uncomfortable his position must be, Hyunjin is suspended right above the door with languid wildcat grace.

“You’re getting slower,” Hyunjin taunts with no real bite.

Minho smiles back blandly. “And you’re getting careless.” He hurls one of Hyunjin’s knives back at the door where it buries itself into the wood, the momentum slamming the door shut and nudging Hyunjin’s precariously placed boot until the younger has no choice but to drop to the ground in a crouch.

Hyunjin has no time to gain his bearings before Minho is on him again, and the two slam into the furniture as they grapple for the better hold. Hyunjin’s hand-to-hand combat had always been weak, but this isn’t another training session, and for once the blond is going all out, whereas Minho is reluctant to truly harm his junior: it leaves them rather equally matched.

Minho grits his teeth as Hyunjin’s nails scrabble for a hold on his shoulders, and he manages to protect his face long enough to punch Hyunjin in the stomach. When the blond doubles over in pain, Minho brings his knee up to smash into Hyunjin’s nose, and he’s down for the count. Minho pants hard, chest heaving as he watches Hyunjin gag into a corner of the room. There’s a steady drip of blood pooling onto the floorboards, but Hyunjin’s expression is hidden behind his hair, and Minho reaches forward in a rare act of sympathy.

“Hey, are you alr—” But before Minho can finish his question, his intuition sends him diving to the side just as Hyunjin swings his last knife behind him, barely grazing Minho’s thigh. So much for a moment of weakness. In some very twisted way, Minho is even proud of him. And when Hyunjin returns Minho’s rising excitement with a bloody leer of his own, he’s reminded of the scrappy punk he had first met all those years ago.

The first time Minho met Hyunjin was when he had a machete raised over Jisung’s head. Minho and Jisung had been working together for a few years already, but the last thing they expected was to get ambushed by the very person they were supposed to be rescuing.

Minho never did find out why Hyunjin had been such a high priority objective, nor why he had been in the witness protection program, but they had a chance to get much closer after Minho all but cracked his skull open for almost killing Jisung. It didn’t take long for regular infirmary visits to turn into Hyunjin tagging along with Minho and Jisung to Command, and from there on out, it came as no surprise that Hyunjin would end up training to become a CIA operative, too.

The process was almost suspiciously efficient, and it only took a few short years for Hyunjin to be drafted into SKZ-9 alongside the pair that had found him in the first place. Unlike the Han-Lee duo, Hyunjin was assigned to particularly delicate missions that required, well, an _intimate_ touch, so his combat training was much less extensive.

It certainly doesn’t feel like it, though, when Hyunjin manages to headbutt Minho _through_ the door.

Minho instinctively brings both arms up to protect his face as the wood splinters behind his back, but he regains his footing before he could stagger over the bannister. Just in time, too, because Hyunjin darts forward to stab Minho again. Minho tilts his head to evade the knife, grabbing hold of Hyunjin’s extended wrist and yanking him forward, using the momentum to hurl Hyunjin down the stairs with a huff. He lets the affectionate smirk stretch across his face for a split second before jumping over the railing, booted heel aimed straight for Hyunjin’s face.

The blond rolls out of the way, launching himself back up towards Minho with a vicious kick, but Minho dodges again, and Hyunjin’s leg slams into the nearby cabinet instead. Undeterred, the younger bites back his yelp of pain and slashes towards Minho again, a flurry of blows backing Minho up into the kitchen, where he trips against the corner of the counter and Hyunjin’s knife finally catches successfully against his arm.

“Guess your old age is catching up to you,” Hyunjin taunts.

The former operations director hisses in pain, darting forward to smack the knife out of Hyunjin’s hand, getting a blow to the jaw for his troubles. Minho spits out a mouthful of blood as he kicks the blade away from them both. “You wish, brat.” Even without his throwing knives, Hyunjin stays at a distance, knowing Minho has the advantage in close combat, but his impatience wins out, and he bounces once on his feet before somersaulting forward to launch himself at Minho’s face.

“Trying to use my own moves against me again?” Minho grits out as he tumbles to the ground, barely missing the counter edge, his own legs coming up to cross at Hyunjin’s neck. He flips them over so Hyunjin is no longer sitting on him, but the younger wriggles away before Minho pin him down again, one foot kicking out at Minho’s already-bruised ribs, sending the senior agent staggering back, wheezing.

“I don’t know, is it working?” Hyunjin spits out, blowing long strands of hair out of his face as he gingerly prods his nose. “Did you have to go for my nose?” His voice takes on that familiar whiny tone, and Minho outright laughs at the ill-placed nostalgia.

“I don’t know,” Minho mocks. “Are you still trying to kill me?” He can’t help the hint of bitterness that makes it into his voice, and Hyunjin appears to sober up in response. Minho was right, Hyunjin had long since stopped aiming for lethal targets since they began fighting.

The blond gets to his feet but makes no further movement. “Seems like _your_ new favorite hobby,” he replies slowly, “what with that very public assassination you just orchestrated. I don’t think I want to be like you.”

Minho huffs out another mirthless laugh, winded as he leans back against the kitchen cabinets. “Yeah. I mean, what was I thinking right, killing the President in front of all those media cameras?”

“Abandoning your gun at the site, the one licensed directly to you.”

Minho smirks. “Leaving my _fingerprints_ on it, a rookie mistake.”

Hyunjin bats his lashes right back at him. “It’s like you were _asking_ to be caught.”

Minho hums in agreement. “If it truly had been me, that is.” He’s pleased that Hyunjin caught on without an explicit explanation. Brat’s always been too observant for his own good, although it was rather obvious to anyone who took five minutes to think about it that Minho gained nothing by selling out his own task force. He gained nothing by becoming the most wanted man in America, and yet...

“So _why_?” Hyunjin asks, back turned to his former leader as he splashed water on his face.

Minho shrugs carelessly, watching the water pinken in the sink as Hyunjin washes the blood off his face. Minho hadn’t totally relaxed yet, as it wasn’t beneath Hyunjin to try to lull him into a false sense of security. “Why does anyone do anything? We unearthed like six political coups a day, it was only a matter of time before we tripped headfirst into another one. Well, before _I_ got tangled in one, at any rate.”

Hyunjin snorts. “I told you it didn’t pay to ignore all the machinations flying around you. I still don’t understand how you got this far without getting blackmailed or something.”

“Maybe I’m just that good at my job.” Minho smiles blandly. “Most people aren’t willing to provoke an assassin into throwing off his yoke.”

Hyunjin straightens up to face him again. “Well, someone’s certainly chosen to take that risk now.” His expression turns grim. “Someone we know.”

Minho nods, mentally crossing Hyunjin off his list of suspects. So that just leaves Seungmin, Jeongin, and Felix… _God_ , he wouldn’t wish it to be any of them. “I need your keys.” He’s referring to Hyunjin’s operative passkeys, the ones that will let him access all the information stored in their archives. Minho is certain that his own access would have been locked already, or worse, bugged to send an alarm if he tried to use them. Luckily, Hyunjin’s credentials shouldn’t get flagged.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen. “You’re going to break in? The entire nation is hunting you, and I do mean _everyone_.”

“I don’t have a choice. I need to see what information they faked to pin President Chan’s murder on me, and I need to see it in person.” Especially the weapons report, which would be completed roughly 12 hours from now, at the latest.

Minho needed to know who framed him for murder.

Hyunjin hesitates. “Hyung, I don’t think…”

Minho points at one of the kitchen appliances that had remained miraculously unharmed by their earlier brawl. “How much?”

The blond rolls his eyes but dutifully recites Minho’s favorite threat. “Twenty minutes at 180 degrees. But I still don’t think this is a good idea.” He frowns in worry. “I can give you access, but you’ll still need to break into HQ on your own. You can’t just waltz into the most secure building in this country on your own…” His expression changes. “You met Jisung already, didn’t you.”

Clever. Minho smiles but doesn’t reply.

“Well good riddance,” Hyunjin continues huffily, pouting up a storm, although his brows are still furrowed in concern. “I’ll cover for you here, but I hope you and Jisung land in different prison cells. Maximum security.”

Minho pats him on the head in thanks, ignoring the baleful glare Hyunjin sends him.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin calls out, right before Minho departs. A moment of hesitation. “You don’t… you don’t think it’s Seungminnie, do you?”

Minho pauses but doesn’t turn back. He sighs wearily, and Hyunjin watches his shoulders visibly slump. The blond can’t imagine how exhausting it must be to go on the run, with the entire country as enemy territory. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Hyunjin-ah.”

And with one last wave, Minho is gone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing the fight scenes in this chapter was like pulling teeth. Sorry for the delay. At least we have a new President in our universe now.
> 
> —A


	4. Chapter 4

The first time Minho had set eyes on Jisung, he had wanted the younger man gone.

No one who still retained a sparkle of innocence in their eyes should have been at Quantico, where justice came to rest and duty took its place. Minho maintained that belief up until the very minute he saw Jisung shoot a man dead between the eyes. Oh, he shook afterwards, trembled and cried as Minho did his best to cup Jisung’s pieces with sieve-like hands, but in that moment, Minho understood: even the most pliable sapling would topple the winds when the need arose.

(“When it came down to him or you,” Jisung whispered to him later that night, tucked away in a distant stairwell, “I would have chosen you every time.”)

So it was a single bullet that blew away all of Minho’s misgivings, and a single bullet that brought them all back. Armenia was risky territory at the best of times, and it was just their luck to run afoul of the local brotherhood. Minho’s memories of the fallout stick to the recesses of his mind, tacky with spilled blood.

He never lets himself reminisce too deeply, choosing instead to focus on how Jisung’s limp now in front of him is barely noticeable, how the substantial physical therapy after they were shipped home had recovered most of his mobility, even if he was permanently benched from SKZ-9 missions, branded a risk to himself and his teammates.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The man in question murmurs quietly, slowing down to walk beside Minho. Despite his visible nervousness, Jisung flashes that gummy smile that had won Minho over in the first place. All these years later, it still takes his breath away, and Minho can’t resist returning one in kind.

“Mm, just thinking about our first date.” The spluttered response Minho gets is everything to him.

“At a time like this?” Jisung hisses, tugging Minho back from turning the corner before even checking if anyone was coming. Not that Minho was a stranger to Langley at all, but Jisung was already apprehensive about this entire trip. Minho should be trying to flee the country, not break back into a military stronghold. “You should be thinking about not getting _caught_.”

Minho winks, slipping out of Jisung’s grasp with a pat on his butt to turn down the corridor. “When I could be thinking about you instead? Not a chance. Besides, Venice might have been romantic, but it was also far worse.”

Jisung shudders. Minho’s right, Venice _was_ worse. He’s never seen jellyfish in quite the same light ever since, yet he can’t deny that he’s surprised at how blasé Minho is acting. As soon as they had entered the building, it was like all the tension had drained from Minho’s shoulders, replaced with a lazy confidence Jisung hasn’t seen in person since, well, since before Armenia.

“This is home territory for me, too,” Minho explained lightly, arm contracting tightly around an unlucky agent’s neck while Jisung punched the man’s assistant in the face. “I’ve never been more familiar with a location, and with all the turmoil, there’s no way they would have upgraded security yet.” The duo speedily tie the agents up, leaving the unconscious men and Jisung’s last concerns to languish in a small storage closet.

As fast as his heart was racing, there was still some small part of Jisung that reveled in their current situation, this pseudo-mission with his rightful partner by his side. It was soothing to know that despite the years of separation, the years of sitting on the sidelines while the rest of their team was dispatched, Jisung had been wise to keep his body in mint condition, coordinating perfectly with Minho as they handily dealt with the remaining agents unlucky enough to find them.

True, Jisung’s leg still gave the odd twinge of pain when he overextended it pulling off an acrobatic move Minho had taught him in the first place, but it was worth the jarring landing to see Minho’s stunned expression when he bounced onto the balls of his feet.

“Han Jisung,” Minho pronounces his name slowly, reverently. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Jisung shrugs faux-modestly, resisting the urge to rub an old scar. “I learned from the best.” He lets Minho draw him in by the waist, one hand cradling his jaw and familiar, brown eyes searching his own.

“You know the team’s finished after we get to the bottom of this,” Minho whispers, warm breath fanning over Jisung’s lips.

“I know.” They had realized long ago that the slightest breeze could upend their house of cards, back when SKZ-9 had been formed, and the president’s assassination had been a maelstrom.

“And I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.” Even if they managed to clear Minho’s name, a lot of unsavory missions would be coming to light, and public scrutiny would be neutral at best.

“You were framed,” Jisung replies firmly, leaning into Minho’s touch. “And we’re going to find the real shooter.” It hurt that a teammate had so easily betrayed them, betrayed the country they had sworn allegiance to, but the relief of knowing he didn’t have to choose between Minho and his other loyalties outweighed all else.

Minho smiles softly. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “No matter what happens to me—”

“Which will be _nothing_ ,” Jisung insists, but Minho presses on, rubbing a thumb over full cheeks.

“ _If_ something happens, I want to know you’re safe.”

“The safest place for me is by your side.” Jisung knows what Minho is implying, and the rising sense of urgency pitches his voice up. “Minho, I let you into the building with _my_ credentials. They’ll think I’ve gone rogue, too, so you can’t just leave me either.”

His fiancé stays silent.

“Minho,” Jisung repeats forcefully, voice cracking.

“Isn’t this exactly the sort of thing we prepared for?” Minho smiles sadly, eyes tightening with pain. “You’ve suffered so much for our lies, Sungie, I don’t want to throw away all that effort for nothing.”

Jisung shakes his head furiously. It hasn’t been that bad, really, just some gentle ribbing, longer counseling sessions, the odd promotion passed up while the others continued to think of him as emotionally compromised. “And what if something happens to _you_? I won’t be there to watch your back if you’re on the run alone.”

Minho hesitates, and Jisung’s sure he’s going to cave, but: “It’ll only be for a little while. I won’t leave you behind, you know I wouldn’t.”

Jisung wants to continue arguing, even if he knows Minho is right, but they have to move before they get caught. As if sensing his reluctance, Minho leans in to brush his lips gently against Jisung’s. “I’m sorry, Sungie,” Minho whispers. “You know I’ll come back for you as soon as I can. You couldn’t keep me away if you tried.”

Jisung leans into Minho’s touch before pulling away, nudging Minho gently towards the door. “I know. Now go, I’ll keep watch.”

Jisung drops into a crouch with a deep sigh as Minho disappears through the door, running one hand roughly through his hair. He only prays that the information they find will be worth this entire charade.

* * *

Minho heaves a silent sigh of relief as the light on the keypad beeps green. It’s not like he hadn’t wanted to take Hyunjin at his word, but it was nice to have a confirmation that at least one other person could be trusted. It doesn’t take long for Minho to find the right metal cabinet, but the files inside were disorganized enough that flipping through them distracted him from worrying about Jisung any further.

Their long-term plans had more than taken a toll on the younger, and Minho dearly wished he could do anything to shoulder some of the weight himself. With the state that Minho himself had been put in by whoever was conspiring against him, though, the best thing he could do was to get to the bottom of this and _fast_. Luckily, despite being named acting operations director, Jeongin hadn’t had the time yet to redact any of Minho’s files, and all the information he now sought was right at his fingertips, as long as he could read between the lines correctly.

Flipping past the heavily blacked-out pages of his own file, Minho turns to the newest ballistics report, the one conducted on the gun he had supposedly used to shoot the president. It was his registered Browning, fitted with a suppressor, this he already knew. A single shot through the back of President Bang’s neck from 50 meters away. His fingerprints found on the murder weapon. Damning, to be sure, but still nothing that ruled out the possibility of a coverup, although he’s sure any court he stood in front of wouldn’t see it that way. Minho’s eyes flick further down the page, and he pauses.

Additional prints found: 95% match — Seo Changbin.

Changbin? Their Chief of Staff? The one who shared identical political sentiments to their president, who for all intents and purposes, stood to lose the most from his party leader’s death? It was completely illogical.

Minho scowls in thought at the page before his eyes catch on a small signature at the very bottom. Each ballistics report in SKZ-9 was done by their internal team, but it was very rare for the field agents themselves to be involved in the forensics labs and _especially_ rare for them to have anything to do with the paperwork.

So why had this particular ballistics report been filed and submitted by one _Felix Lee_?

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @levantersnow
> 
> —A


End file.
